


Alone in the Theatre

by rhodrymavelyne



Category: Tokyo Babylon, X -エックス- | X/1999
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-23
Updated: 2015-06-23
Packaged: 2018-04-05 20:14:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4193421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rhodrymavelyne/pseuds/rhodrymavelyne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This was inspired by the beginning of a movie with Kristy McNicol called 'Dream Lover'. This play is inspired by the Hyacinthus myth, although the West Wind is more sympathetic in the play than in the Robert Graves myth I read. As far as I know there isn't a musical or an opera based off this story. ;_; If I'm wrong, please tell me? I'd love to find out there was one!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Alone in the Theatre

We're sitting in our box seat in the theatre, in the darkness. I can easily see the stage, though I can't hear what the young man in the spotlight is singing. 

My childish voice is pitifully loud in my own ears, as I surrender to guidance. "Seishirou-san, what does it mean?" It's not quite what I meant to say, but I seldom say, or do anything I mean in this man's presence.

Seishirou-san is aware of his advantage, but he doesn't press it. "It's a lament," he says. His voice is as kind and gentle, as it ever was. "The West Wind is enamored with Hyacinthus, a beautiful boy he always watches, but can never have. He's just realized Hyacinthus can only be his, if he kills him."

If who kills who? I wonder. "How terrible," I say instead, not really looking at the stage, but at Seishirou-san's single eye. It gleams golden in the darkness. 

"Yes, it is terrible," Seishirou-san says with an odd smile. His eye watches me intently. "Some people walk a terrible path, Subaru-kun."

The smell of sakura blossoms fills the musty space of our theatre box. I can almost see the petals floating down, from nowhere, between the two of us.

"And some of us are simply terrible," he says with a slight emphasis, neither apologizing, nor gloating. His gloved hands reach out to touch my neck, encircling it. The gesture could be erotic, or the prelude to an attack. I never know which.

All I know, when I awaken from the dream, is I want his hands there.


End file.
